Crush (A Night Fire Novel Book 1)

This book is a work of fiction. The names of characters, places and incidents are products of the writers imagination and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals or organizations is entirely coincidental. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without the written permission from the author.

The world seemed to slow as I watched the glass hit the ground with a wine soaked shattering. I looked at the owner of the glass, a blow in from LA. Supremacy flickered through her enhanced lips, tittering an oops and calling me girl as she beckoned me to clean up her mess. Casting my tray to the empty table, I threw my towel onto the carpet with the hope of soaking out the wine.

Dark eyes watched me as I sopped it up, picking up the shards of glass. The skank had done it on purpose, like some sick twisted need she wanted me on all fours picking up her mess. All that I needed now was for the man that was with her to give me a boot up the ass, thus finishing their joint effort to demean me. If it happened once, it happened a thousand times. It seemed that those who came to Vegas thought that the wait staff were scum. Like we didn't deserve to be human.

The blonde flicked her hair off her shoulder and continued to push the food around her plate. I hated when people did that, the chef had gone to so much effort to make that meal and all she did was cut it up and played with it, pretending to eat it. It was wasteful, considering how many there were that were going without tonight.

A shadow loomed over me, I looked up to see one of the guys from a corner booth standing over me. They had been here for a few hours, drinking excessively and mostly keeping to themselves. If anything they were better customers than these two assholes.

I continued to pick up the shards, carefully trying to avoid getting cut. It wasn't working, blood was now oozing from my fingers.

“Get off the floor.” he grunted dangerously. “You're bleeding.”

“It's my job, don't worry about it.”

The blonde giggled, before she could offer her derogatory comments the guy had her arm lifting her to her feet.

“You did that on purpose, get down there and clean it up.”

“Get your hands off me!” the harpy screeched.

“She's bleeding because of you, you dumb bitch. Get down there and help her.”

The boyfriend was on his feet in a second almost falling over me to defend her. Now fists were flying and the boyfriend was knocked to his ass. It was so perfect that I wanted to kiss the feet of my defender. It really was a rare thing for someone to stand up for another these days. Now my boss had come over, yelling at my savior.

As the boyfriend went down he grabbed the tablecloth, sending their dinner everywhere. Excellent, more mess to clean up. My saviors mates were getting out of their seats, four huge guys that were the epitome of the bad boy look. Tattoos, piercings, ripped jeans and tight band shirts over glorious hardened abs. Sometimes being a chick was so damned good, the view was to die for. The four of them were readying for the biggest smack down Vegas had ever seen and considering that this place had prize fights every night, it was saying something. One of them tilted his head as he cracked the bones in his neck. Another was rolling his shoulders back, squaring them off. The third cracked his knuckles And the fourth well, he picked up a chair. Shit.

It was surreal, the world seemed to continue its slow pace. The four of them walked towards the mess, so cool and aloof you would think you were at a fashion show for tough guys. All we needed now was so crazy ass explosion behind them and it would be perfect.

People began to rush out of the way, pushing past each other to get out of the restaurant. More tables went over with the panic. The once plush dark carpet was covered in an assortment of food and drinks, upturned tables and chairs.

Large hands gripped under my arms, pulling me out of the way.

“Shit's about to get real, you need to stay out of the way.”

I looked up at my savior, a grin curled into the corner of his lips as he jutted his head at me. With that, he was upright again and landing a punch on the boyfriend who had managed to get to his feet. As he fell against the table behind him, it was knocked over toppling chairs in every direction.

The friends who I am sure were only getting in on the action so that they could destroy the furniture, were fighting their own battles. A few of the more burly waiters had come out and were trying to subdue them but they were failing miserably. These boys were brawlers, with every punch thrown their bodies were graceful and moved with ease. I wished I could be that elegant with my movements. A body was thrown over the table near me, I yelped and shuffled backwards. These guys were insane.

The world snapped into real time as a plate hit the table I was pressed against, inches from my head. I wiped the sauce off my face and lifted myself off the floor, instantly regretting it. There was broken bits of glass and crockery everywhere.

I picked out a bit of what I could assume might have been a plate. It hadn't pierced the skin thankfully, just pressing into it so damned hard it left a purple indentation.

As I scanned the room, I found my savior and my troublemaker. He was still laying into the boyfriend and to his credit, he was giving as good as he got.

“Stop it!” I yelled at them.

The idiots ignored me.

I scrabbled over the cloth that covered the wine and broken glass, feeling the cut into my knees. Smart move. My savior fell to the ground, his lip cut and bleeding.

“Enough!” I hissed at him. “You've defended me, now let it go.”

His eyes were a bright and burning green, staring at me as if I had said something in another language. Someone grabbed his shirt, hauling him onto his stomach. I looked up and saw a police officer who was about to wrap the cuffs around his wrists. Damn it.

“Come on, this isn't necessary, is it?” I begged. “He was just defending me against some ass wipes.”

“Maybe you should take a look around.” the man snarled at me as he hauled my savior to his feet.

I sat back and looked at the chaos. The other four were being hauled out of the restaurant as was the boyfriend. The skank was sobbing in the arms of one of the female waiters and my boss was staring at me with a look of doom. The place looked like someone had set a bomb off. Well, five bombs I suppose.

Every single table was turned over, some were broken. Plates, glasses, chairs, all smashed. There was even a knife sticking out of the wall. That was a little crazy, had someone thrown it or did it happen in a set of farcical events? People lined the window on the exterior of restaurant, watching in horror. Some held up their phones, videoing the melee.

A couple of paramedics were doing the rounds of those in the room, one stooped to me and checked over the cuts. He ordered me to the ambulance to ensure the wounds were flushed and free of glass. As he gently lifted me to my feet I could feel the pain in my knees and I looked down, almost crying out. Blood covered my bare legs, the wounds on my knees had been larger than I thought.

I sat on the stretcher as the paramedic fussed over my scrapes. They weren't enough to warrant going to the hospital after all, it was Friday night and the emergency ward would be a nightmare. I had ventured there once when I accompanied a chef that had nearly chopped his finger off. He was lucky, he only had to sit there for a few minutes until he was shipped off elsewhere in the hospital but in those few minutes I could see how bad it was. I felt sorry for the nurses, they must see so much that wasn't necessary. Alcohol poisoning, drug overdoses, sin city had seen it all. With the last of my patching done, I stepped out of the ambulance. Everyone was giving statements to the cops, fingers pointing into the restaurant, arms flailing with their exuberant descriptions.

I looked back at my boss, he shook his head with a sad and disappointed expression. I knew I was done for. No matter how much pleading I did, it wouldn't work. I could reason with him until the cows came home, it wouldn't matter. For some reason being defended by a group of punch happy men was my fault.

After collecting my bag and avoiding the mess, I wandered down the street feeling rather dejected. Wrapping my arms tight to my body I looked around, to the bright lights of the glittering casinos, to the happy people walking around and enjoying themselves. I wished I could find amusement in tonight, though I could smile about it. No one had stood up and defended me like that. So with that thought swirling around in my mind, it came as no surprise that I found myself outside the police station.

I was mad.

Turn around and go home. Pack your stuff in preparation for getting kicked out tomorrow. Find a paper and search for a new job, just in case Mr Barton is feeling generous and offers a few days extension on the rent. Go home Frankie.

I sighed as I tucked the stray strand of hair behind my ear. Long brown hair, it sat just below my shoulders. A little too short I suppose but long enough to tie back for work. Wait, no longer working. What a let down tonight had been. Go home Frankie Mavis Weller. You are mad.

No, I wasn't. I pushed through the doors, the stark fluorescent lights made me wince. Damn it, turn around and go home. A guy in a suit nodded with a filthy grin, leaning back in his seat.

“Need a lawyer?”

“No. Yes.” I sighed painfully. “Maybe.”

He offered his card.

“Not for me. Maybe for the idiot already locked up. Not sure.”

“No ish, hun. Just get your idiot to give me a call.”

I nodded and walked through the crowd, ignoring the fact that the guy called himmyidiot. He was not my idiot and I might just let him sit and stew in the cell and forget about the business card.

“Hey.”

Getting the cops attention wasn't easy, it seemed his paperwork was more interesting. He looked up at me and slowly lifted his ample frame from the chair. My fingers gripped the bench, a little too high for me it kind of made me feel like a small child.

“Uh, there were five guys brought in, probably about an hour ago. Caused a mess at Vinnie's Restaurant. There was a guy, brown hair, green eyes, Led Zeppelin shirt.”

I cleared my throat, feeling the anxiety build. The cop hadn't said a word. Maybe I'd walked to the wrong station.

“Is he here?”

He chewed his gum and leaned on the bench. His eyes were a little too critical, narrowing to thin slits as he looked at me.

“Maybe.”

“Look, I was at the restaurant. He defended me when some customers were being really rude to me. I'd like to say thanks. If he's not here then I'll go or if he is then you can say thanks for me, I suppose.” I shrugged. “I don't need to see him specifically. Probably for the best that I don't really.”

I let out another pained sigh.

“Okay, so if he's here can you say that Frankie from the restaurant said thanks.”

He stared at me like I was crazy, it was probably true. I needed to yell at the idiot and thank him at the same time. Not the cop, the guy that defended me and also managed to get me fired.

The cop pressed a button under the counter and a buzzer went off, the door near him clicked. Okay so I guess I am allowed to thank him personally. I pushed through the door and followed the cop through another one. After a few turns and a few more doors we were in the lock up section.

Vomit assailed my nostrils, the first cell had a man that had thrown up and not bothered to flush the toilet. He was probably too drunk to remember that it was rather necessary. I suppose on a positive note, he had actually managed to get all of it into the bowl. Good on him. I've been that drunk, I've tried to get my head into the toilet bowl in time and I understand how hard it is.

The next one had a fellow that was a lot more alert. He was leaning on the bars, giving me the nod.

“Hey sweetheart, how 'bout you come on over here, I gots something for you.”

“Keep it in your pants.” the cop grunted.

The one on the other side had stood for the viewing, offering a wolf whistle and commenting on what a great ass I had. We'll leave the rest of his comments out of it, suffice to say it could curl a few toes.

“Andrews.” the cop snapped “You've got a visitor. Keep it clean.”

The lanky body was stretched out across the metal bed, his tattooed arm across his eyes to avoid the light. A sliver of flesh showed between his shirt and jeans, showing off firm tattooed skin. The arm fell away as he lifted his head, a ghost of a smile crossed his face. I gripped the cross bar watching as he sat up, his eyes never leaving me. A soft sigh escaped me, it was almost a whimper really. My grip tightened, any more and I might just be able to rip it free from the walls.

There was a slight discoloration under his eye, it looked like a bruise was forming but there hadn't been enough weight behind the punch to make it a good one. God he looked dangerous. Dangerous to my health and my heart. The cop was leaning on the end wall, watching carefully.

I turned to the surrounding cells, watched by his four friends. Nothing like an audience I suppose. He stood up and I gulped hard, I hadn't realized how tall he was. And broad, muscles bulged as he stretched and walked over.

I stepped back a fraction, wondering if this was a good idea. Maybe I should have just gone home and ignored the part of my mind that told me that I should offer my gratitude. He leaned on the cross bar, poking his arms through the bars. Those deep green eyes bored into me, waiting for me to falter.

“I came to say thank you for defending me and then retract it for getting me fired. I'm done.”